He was so beautiful that pairing him with the very finest of the ladies at the court would fail to do him justice.” A priest in “Genji” describes a young woman as follows: “She really is quite beautiful, isn’t she! No doubt she was born with such features as a reward for good deeds performed in a previous life.” Prince Genji himself is described as cutting “such an attractive figure that the other men felt a desire to see him as a woman. To have lovely handwriting, or a talent for poetry, was a mark of good character, in a former life as well as in the present one. Because of the Buddhist belief in rebirth, beauty, in all its forms, was seen as a sign of virtue in a former existence. Ivan Morris, the great scholar of Japanese culture, wrote in his book “The World of the Shining Prince” that, despite the influence of Buddhism, “Heian society was on the whole governed by style rather than by any moral principles, and good looks tended to take the place of virtue.” Seducing another man’s wife could be forgiven a bad poem, clumsy handwriting, or the wrong perfume could not. The main thing required of a noble gentleman was a sense of style. This was a particular sore point in the militantly imperialist nineteen-thirties, when the novelist Junichiro Tanizaki wrote a modern Japanese translation of “Genji.” As a result, he excised references to an emperor who was thought to be in the direct imperial bloodline but was actually the product of Genji’s illicit affair with his father’s mistress. Little wonder that even emperors were not always sure who their real fathers were.
And both father and son lust after Tamakazura, a young girl whom Genji has adopted as his daughter. Much later, Genji’s son, the high-minded Yugiri, grows infatuated with one of Genji’s wives. Genji, when still very young, has a passionate affair with his father’s mistress. So were other, more discreet forms of adultery. Casual affairs with court attendants and ladies-in-waiting were one of the perks of an aristocrat’s life. Genji, also known as the Shining Prince, marries his first wife when he is twelve, immediately following his coming-of-age ceremony. Highborn men, like the fictional Prince Genji, the priapic hero of Murasaki’s episodic tale, were expected to have several wives and many concubines. Indeed, “The Tale of Genji”-now available in a new translation by Dennis Washburn (Norton)-makes clear that the noble gentlemen and ladies in the Heian period (794-1185) were often remarkably promiscuous. A male suitor could be driven wild by the sight of a woman’s sleeve spilling out from underneath a shade, or by the mere sound of silk rustling behind a lacquer screen.ĭespite all these obstacles, people must have managed somehow. Women were shielded by curtains even when they spoke to male members of their own family. For a respectable woman to be seen in daylight, especially standing up, instead of reclining in an interior, under many layers of clothing, would have been provocative beyond belief. Women of the upper class sat hidden in murky rooms, behind curtains, screens, and sliding doors.
Lady murasaki shikibu full#
One reason that physical contact between men and women is hardly ever described in “Genji” is that courtly lovers almost never saw one another clearly, and certainly not naked full nudity is rare even in traditional Japanese erotic art. A “morning after” poem was an essential part of etiquette. More poems would be exchanged as soon as the approach bore fruit. Quite literally so: the proper approach to a desired lady was through poems, written on scented paper of the finest quality, delivered by an elegantly dressed go-between of appropriate social rank.
What counts in the seduction scenes is the art, the poetry. Things are suggested, alluded to, often nebulously. Not that any sexual act is ever mentioned very little in Murasaki Shikibu’s prose is plainly stated. Much of “The Tale of Genji,” the eleventh-century Japanese masterpiece often called the world’s first novel, is about the art of seduction.